


Foo Fighters

by baelished



Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Bottom Hynek, Cum Swallowing, Dirty Talk, Dom Quinn, Foreskin :), Hurt/Comfort, Intended to just write porn but it turned soft real quick, Little bit of plot if you squint, M/M, Mostly just unabashed porn, Name-Calling, Nightmares, Probably a bit OOC and I’m sorry, Typical Hynquinn banter, UFO boys!!!, Whiny Allen, episode rewrite, fairly rough sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 15:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19794160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baelished/pseuds/baelished
Summary: Hynek has a nightmare after seeing a man die in front of him. Quinn comforts him. Sex ensues.Basically just a rewrite/alternate ending for episode 1.5, “Foo Fighters.”





	Foo Fighters

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just a rewrite of everything post-fire scene in episode 5, “Foo Fighters.” I ignored all the plot after that scene and this just cuts to that evening in Quinn’s and Hynek’s hotel. The plot might be messy and I apologize—I just want my boys to kiss and fuck. 
> 
> Also, re: Hynek’s age comment: The real Hynek was actually in his early forties when PBB started so I mashed up that with Aidan’s age to arrive at a fictional age that works both ways. Maybe. 
> 
> Special thanks to my partner for being my idea springboard and proofreader, and to the folks on the PBB Discord for being amazing and supportive while I rant about bottom Hynek all day.
> 
> Find me at aidanvillain on Tumblr!

_The man is on fire. He is on fire and he is dying. Not only that, but he is so close to Allen that he can feel the heat rushing off him, making his own skin burn and prickle. He can’t make himself move away, like it is somehow his destiny to be caught up in this, like he deserves to burn with this man. And then arms around him, catching him, pulling him away. His own hands scorching but not on fire, his throat closed off from the screaming, and the man dying, dying in front of his eyes and him helpless to do anything but fall limp in Quinn’s arms—_

A frantic knock on the motel door stirs Allen, who wakes up panting, breath heavy and sweat trickling down his brow. He takes a moment to clear his lungs and calm himself, shoulders still shaking from the vividness of the dream. He steadies himself as much as possible, places his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and pads to the door. He opens it and takes a step back in confusion at the sight of his partner. 

“Quinn?” he says, squinting, his voice still hoarse from sleep. 

“Are you okay, Doc?” Quinn asks. His expression is fairly natural, but there is concern in his tone. “I heard you screaming.”

“I wasn’t screaming,” Allen protests, then realizes that this might not be exactly true. He was certainly screaming inside his dream, so perhaps his body mimicked the noise. He’s never known himself to talk in his sleep or anything of that nature, but he’s been learning all kinds of new things about the world lately. And about himself. 

“It’s okay, Doc,” says Quinn. “You saw a man die. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve seen hundreds of men die in front of me—friends, enemies, fellow soldiers—and I still can’t escape the images in my sleep.”

Allen worries his lip between his teeth, nodding. He’s grateful for the captain’s encouragement, but he’s still a little concerned that the dream was so vivid it intersected with his body without him knowing. Or maybe he’s mostly just embarrassed that Quinn heard him. 

“If you want to talk about it, I’m all ears,” Quinn continues. “Or if you just don’t want to be alone.”

Allen’s mind is still reeling, but he finds himself nodding and stepping back so Quinn can enter the room. Allen walks over and sits down on his bed, not bothering to smooth the sheets down. He sighs and buries his head in his hands as Quinn sits down next to him. 

“I don’t know if my skin will ever stop burning,” Allen says quietly after several moments. “I wasn’t even scorched, I know, but it’s like the fire dug under my body, like his screams buried themselves into my ears…”

Quinn nods. “The first death I remember seeing was a man whose head was blown off. He kept moving for a few moments afterwards before he fell, like his body didn’t understand what had happened. I didn’t kill him, and I couldn’t save him, but he came walking towards me for years afterwards. Always without his head. He hasn’t been to visit my dreams in a while, though. I have no way of knowing if he’s gone for good.”

Allen sighs. He’s not shaking as hard anymore, but his hands are vibrating of their own accord. Quinn looks down at where they’re fidgeting over his lap and moves closer, cautiously at first, then settles closer beside him. Allen is thankful for the comfort of a body next to him. He’s an independent man when he needs to be, but he’s never liked feeling alone when there’s an alternative. 

“We don’t have to talk about death. Or dreams,” says Quinn. 

Allen shakes his head. He’s glad for the company, the reassurance. He’s glad for Quinn. “What scares me most is that the dream was in some ways worse than reality. I don’t want to relive it every night, Captain.” 

“I wish I could tell you that you won’t,” Quinn says slowly, and places a hand carefully over Allen’s. The professor’s fingers stop shaking at the touch. “But I can tell you that everyone’s different. I know men who don’t dream, men who’ve forgotten dreams. You could easily be one of them in time. But even if you aren’t, know you’re not alone.”

“Thank you, Captain,” he says, licks his lips, considers for a moment. “Quinn,” he adds. 

“Michael,” Quinn offers, and a shiver goes down Allen’s spine. He hasn’t ever called the captain by his first name before, not even in his mind—it feels intimate, but not necessarily wrong. The name suits him, like his title. _O, Captain._

“Michael,” Allen says, testing the name on his tongue and finding he enjoys it. He realizes that feeling has returned to his unsteady hands, and he squeezes Quinn’s hand gently, alerting him that he’s doing better. Quinn smiles at him, and before Allen can stop himself, he leans over and kisses the younger man softly on the lips. Their mouths are warm and gentle on each other’s, but Allen pulls back after a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” Allen says in that gravelly voice of his, nervousness edging his words, and he looks down so he doesn’t have to see Quinn’s face. “I shouldn’t–”

“No, don’t stop,” is the reply from Quinn’s mouth, and Allen’s lips are back on his in a heartbeat, his body responding before his mind can. Quinn’s lips are soft and pliant, but he kisses roughly and with a passion that sends tingles down Allen’s spine. For the first time all day, Allen has forgotten about the man and the fire. His world is all Michael Quinn. 

“Shit, Doc, thought I was the only one keeping secrets around here,” Quinn says, breathless and flushed, hands cupping Allen’s face gently, fingers playing along his beard. Allen supposses he should extend the same courtesy and offer Quinn the use of his first name, but he has to admit that this “Doc” business has gotten him going long before this. It’s something he can’t put his finger on, but the coy title has his brain going a thousand miles a minute. Plus, Quinn knows his name and he’s used it before on occasion; if the captain wants to, Allen figures he will. 

“Mmmm,” Allen moans against Quinn’s mouth, loving the way Quinn’s got his hands tangled in the soft waves of his hair. The man tastes like cinnamon and cigarettes, fucking delicious and it’s got Allen almost delirious. He moves his hands on Quinn in response, fumbling with the soft collar of his pajama shirt. It’s just a white cotton thing, nothing fancy, and as he plays with it, he lips a kiss against the captain’s jaw. The skin is gentle and smooth there, a stark contrast to Allen’s own wiry whiskers. 

“I’m okay to keep…” Quinn says, face absolutely pink from cheeks to ears. “Going, Doc, if you are. God knows how long I’ve wanted…”

The words are music to Allen’s ears, and he finds himself completely in the hands of the captain, at his beck and call. He melts against his body, letting Quinn take the lead. 

With Mimi, he’s expected to be on top, to be dominant, to be the one doing the bulk of the work. But with Quinn...with Quinn, the pressure’s gone. Allen finds he likes it best when Quinn is the one to kiss _him_ hardest, when his hands are rough against his button-down pajamas and hot against his bare skin. Plus, he has to admit that after the recent events, he could use the feeling of someone else deciding, someone else taking control. 

“Please, Captain,” he whispers, all thoughts of first name bases gone, reverted to what sounds right to his ears in the moment. “I…”

“You ever slept with a man before?” Quinn asks as he undoes the buttons of Allen’s pajama top. He steals a kiss to his jawline, and Allen swears he could die by his mouth all warm and wet on his stubble. 

“No,” says Allen. _Not for lack of want._ “Have you?” 

“Only in my fantasies,” replies Quinn, shucking off Allen’s top and pawing at the spattering of chest hair he’s revealed. Like his hair, Allen’s chest is dusted with a spectrum of browns and grays; this hair is softer than his beard, and as Quinn lowers his head to suck on a nipple, he lets his hand slide up and down Allen’s chest, feeling him. 

Allen lets out an inhuman whine as Quinn’s mouth closes around his nipple. “Shit,” he manages to get out, hands splayed in Quinn’s cropped hair. 

“Yeah, you like that, Doc?” Quinn muses, taking the opportunity to let his teeth graze against Allen’s nipple. Allen throws his head back, a low hum in the back of his throat. “I asked you a question,” Quinn says, pulling back to give a stern look; Allen guesses he’s noticed the position Allen’s shown a preference for, and he thanks God the younger man is willing to play along. Good thing he’s used to having to boss people around on occasion. 

“Yes, sir,” Allen replies quickly, picture of politeness and obedience. “Captain.”

“There we go, Doc,” Quinn praises, coming up to kiss him. He flicks his tongue against Allen’s teeth, hands teasing his shoulders softly. He lets Allen remove his shirt and nuzzle against his collarbone. Allen grabs one of Quinn’s nipples experimentally, playing with the flat skin on his chest, and Quinn mouths at Allen’s neck happily. 

“You good to keep going?” asks Quinn, kissing the side of Allen’s mouth, a rough hand on the back of his neck. 

When Allen lets out a breathy “Yes, yes _please,_ ” Quinn smiles that suave little smirk and trails a hand down Allen’s stomach to find the tent in his plaid pajama pants. 

“What’s going on down here, Doc?” he teases, kissing his shoulder, his neck, his lips. 

“Why don’t you find out?” asks Allen, playfully giddy in his words, and he gets his wish when Quinn’s hand closes around his growing erection, making Allen gasp and his body shudder. It’s been too long since...since _anyone_ except himself has touched him there; when he’s been home it’s for hours at a time and Mimi doesn’t seem keen to bed him anymore. Quinn is heaven, a heaven he’s never known, and he leans into his touch, whispering “Captain” against his ear. 

“Let’s get you out of these, hm?” Quinn asks, and Allen replies with a sharp “Yes,” sitting up so Quinn can pull down his pants and expose him to the night air. Quinn lets out a breath at the sight of Allen’s cock, a thin, low breath that makes Allen’s cheeks flush red. That, and Quinn’s eyes staring directly at him. 

Quinn wraps his hand around Allen, teasing his foreskin back and letting the tip peek out for a moment. He does it again, and again, and Allen whines at the friction, moaning gently in time with Quinn’s movements. Pretty soon he’s leaking, cock erect and red, making Quinn’s hands all sticky. Allen’s ears ring with the sound of his foreskin moving wetly along his shaft, and he lets out a little cry, a beg for more. 

“I think I’d like for you to fuck me with this one day,” Quinn says softly, tugging at his cock and squeezing it simultaneously. “I want to know how it feels.” 

Allen whines at the thought, barely capable of words through the pleasure of Quinn’s hand on him. Instead, he nods and thrusts up into Quinn’s fist, sighing happily. 

“But now I want you on your knees,” Quinn says, removing his hand and standing up at the edge of the bed. He takes a moment to remove the older man’s glasses and place them gingerly on the desk, and pushes Allen gently to his knees. Then the captain pushes his own bottoms down—loose shorts, his cock already straining them—and Allen doesn’t need any more encouragement. His mouth is on Quinn in an instant. 

“Bet they don’t teach this in your books, huh, Doc?” Quinn asks, dropping his head back and letting out a long whine. 

“If they do, I’d happily read every one,” Allen replies. He’s aware that his motions are sloppy, his tongue getting caught on the head of Quinn’s dick. The captain is cut, and Allen finds the lack of foreskin a bit difficult; he’s used to pleasuring himself, so enjoying a man without one is quite different. He can’t complain, though; Quinn’s dick is still perfect, and he moans delightedly around it. Something new to explore. 

“Not that you, _ugh_ , need to be taught,” Quinn grunts, fists a hand in Allen’s brown curls. 

“Why, thank you, Captain,” Allen says, then his mouth is full of cock again. He swallows it down, sucking on it, then licks a long stripe downwards and back up again. Remembering the balls, he cups them and gives a soft squeeze, rolling them in his palm. Using his hand for leverage, he sucks down Quinn’s cock and lets his head bob on it, looking up at Quinn as he does. 

“Fuck, Doc,” says Quinn, gasping. “Look at you. _God_.” He pauses a moment, ruffling Allen’s hair. “Can I fuck you now?”

“I’d be devastated if you didn’t,” replies Allen, and Quinn helps him to his feet, kissing him roughly. Quinn grinds their hips together, and Allen sees stars when their cocks rub against each other, all wet and hard and heaven. 

Quinn urges him to the bed, lets Allen fall beneath him and climbs on top of him. He kisses his neck, his collarbone, sucks a bruise here and there while his hands tease their way down Allen’s body. Allen’s breath comes in ragged gasps, eyes studying Quinn in that careful, analytic way they always do, and Quinn smiles at it, urging Allen’s legs apart with his hand and rubbing a finger gently against his tight hole. 

“I don’t have anything,” Allen blurts out, suddenly realizing. “Oil or lubricant or anything.”

“I do,” says Quinn reassuringly, and Allen gives him a blank look. “Sometimes girls really go for it. They get nervous and a bit of lube is all they need.”

“Lucky you’re a womanizer, then,” breathes Allen as Quinn‘s finger strokes circles around his ass. 

“Oh, so you’d rather I fuck you raw then, hmm?” Quinn asks, the whisper of a kiss against Allen’s neck, a tease. He takes his hand away and Allen gasps at the loss of contact. “Tell you what. Let me go grab it. And a condom, too. I won’t be long. When I come back, I want you on your knees for me with that pretty ass in the air.”

“I’m not one of your small town whores, you know,” Allen protests as Quinn reaches for his pajamas and puts them back on quickly. His shorts do nothing to mask his erection, but the captain doesn’t seem to care, because he takes no actions to hide it. Hopefully nobody is in the hallway between their two doors. 

“You sure about that, Doc?” Quinn winks at him and hurries out the door, footsteps moving across the hall. 

_Fuck_ is the litany in Allen Hynek’s head as he obeys Quinn instantly, moving so that he’s on his hands and knees, cheek pressed into the soft downy of the hotel pillow. He waits and waits, holding himself there and noting that each second feels like an eternity, and lets out a sigh of relief when the door _finally_ opens again and he hears Quinn approaching the bed. 

Two large hands find their way onto his ass and Allen lets out a hiss as Quinn squeezes his cheeks. Allen feels a quick rush of self-consciousness wash over him; he hasn’t ever shaved around his ass, and he can’t remember ever taking any specific care to trim the hairs dusting the area. Had he known this was going to happen, perhaps he’d have taken some measures. He prays Quinn doesn’t mind, and tries to let himself relax as the captain gives his ass an experimental slap. It’s quick, but soft, just an ease into it. Allen whines. 

“You work out, Doc?” asks Quinn. His breath is hot and heavy on the back of Allen’s thighs. He’s shrugged out of his pajamas again—when did he do that?—and his skin is warm on Allen’s. 

“Not particularly,” says Allen truthfully. His hands clench into fists on the pillow as Quinn brushes a finger over his hole again. 

“You’re remarkably fit for your age,” replies Quinn, and Allen turns his head back to give him an incredulous look. 

“Oh, so I’m old then, huh, Captain?” he asks, a smile decorating his flushed cheeks. He’s thankful for the compliment, though; he knows he isn’t half as in shape as the men Quinn must have shared locker rooms with all his life, but he’s glad Quinn is pleased with him. 

“Not _too_ old,” Quinn laughs, and pushes the tip of his finger against Allen’s entrance. Allen grits his teeth, the ring of muscle resisting any entry save a centimeter or two of Quinn’s fingertip. “You ever play with yourself back here?” he asks, voice low like they’re sharing elementary school secrets. 

“No,” Allen replies quickly, then: “Yes.”

“Doctor Hynek,” says Quinn sternly. Allen has never once found himself turned on at the sound of his title, but now he suspects any utterance of it will bring him right back here, to this bed and to this little slice of heaven. 

“I tried…” Allen breathes, voice quiet like the words are caught behind his teeth. “A couple of months ago.” That’s an exaggeration; it had been weeks ago, in the middle of a case, Allen alone in his hotel with Quinn on his mind. But that’s a story for another day. 

“Tell you what, Doc,” says Quinn, grabbing the bottle of lubricant from where he’s tossed it on the bed and coating his fingers in it. “I think you were _made_ to have a cock in this ass. I’m going to start slow, alright? Say ‘paperclip’ if you ever need me to stop.”

Allen guffaws at that, but he nods anyway. He tries to relax, lets his body melt into the bed, holding himself up with just his knees and elbows. And then Quinn’s got his hand trailing along the crease of his ass, and in a different way than usual, he sees stars. 

Allen has to use all of his strength not to jerk away from Quinn’s fingers; he wants it more than anything, yet his body, confused by the strange sensation of cold, wet fingers trailing along his perineum, stiffens automatically at the touch. Quinn carefully works that one finger inside him, opening him up with the gentlest of movements. Allen growls, any real sounds caught in the back of his throat as the captain moves his finger in a circular motion, helping release the tension built into the muscle. 

“God, you are _so_ tight,” Quinn moans, and Allen suspects the sporadic pulsing of his asshole has got Quinn’s brain all tied in knots. It certainly feels that way at the other end. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going to feel like around my cock.”

“Why don’t you find out?” asks Allen playfully around his gritted teeth, words coming out as a growl. 

Quinn grips his ass tightly with his free hand. “Careful, Doc. I’d think an astrophysicist would understand a bit about patience.”

“Not my strongest suit,” says Allen, then lets out an absolute squeak as Quinn slicks a second finger alongside the first, urging him open even more. The captain smiles at the spot where his fingers disappear into Allen, then grabs a fistful of the man’s hair, pulling his head back a bit. 

“Fuck yourself on my fingers,” he orders, and Allen nods as much as he can and obeys, moving his hips and jerking back onto Quinn. The lube has provided enough freedom that Quinn can move his fingers freely inside of Allen now, and the two revel in it. 

Quinn scissors his fingers inside Allen, sticky digits spreading the man open, and as Allen bounces back on Quinn, a wanton moan escapes his lips. “You’re splitting me apart, Captain,” he whines. 

“Not yet I’m not,” Quinn promises with a low growl, running a hand down Allen’s spine, breath hot against his bare skin. “But you know I want to.”

“Come _on,_ then,” Allen begs, body shaking, ass clenched around Quinn’s fingers stabbing inside him relentlessly. 

“You’ve waited fifty years for a cock in your ass, you can wait a couple more minutes, Doctor,” Quinn chides, still a more than keen for teasing. 

“I’m forty-five!” Allen protests, but he’s absolutely obsessed with the banter they have going, how easy everything is together. Snarky, special, perfect. 

“Mhm,” Quinn says with an air of nonchalance, like he couldn’t give a fuck. It’s way too sexy, and Allen jerks his hips back again, then finds emptiness inside him. He whimpers at the loss of fingers, looks back at Quinn expectantly. 

“You’re hot when you’re needy, you know that?” Quinn asks. “It’d almost be worth it to leave you here like this and wait til tomorrow to take you.”

“ _Please, Captain,”_ Allen manages to get out, rocking his hips forward, cock still half-hard and rutting against the sheets. “ _Please_ fuck me.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” says Quinn, reaching for a condom. He tears open the wrapper with his teeth, rolls the latex onto his dick, and murmurs gently as he slicks himself with lube and rubs it against Allen’s reddened, slick hole. 

Allen’s hands curl into tight fists as Quinn pushes inside him, inch by inch, and he swears he’s going to burst. It hurts like hell, like fucking _hell_ , but with Quinn inside him he couldn’t be anywhere but heaven. Both men are holding their breath, then let out low sighs as Quinn’s finally buried to the hilt inside Allen. 

“You okay?” Quinn asks, running a hand down Allen’s back carefully, a gentle touch to meld with the stars of pain like lightning inside the professor. 

“Yes, _yes_ , Captain,” he moans, thighs shaking, hair sweaty and messy, cock dangling between his legs, forgotten in all the focus on his ass. As if he can read his mind, Quinn snakes a hand down to wrap around it, stroking Allen in time as he puts up a slow rhythm. It’s bliss, this steady, slow burn, the thick heat of Quinn’s cock inside him. Allen’s getting used to the strain, his ass stretched open, and the thought of what it’s going to look like later makes him shudder. 

“Captain Quinn?” Allen asks, voice hoarse from the heat of the moment; he keeps forgetting to breathe, and he has to force air down his lungs while he remembers to. 

“Mm?” Quinn replies, leans down so he’s right against Allen’s ear, nuzzles his neck softly. 

“Harder,” he manages to get out, and that causes Quinn’s hips to snap against his ass more forcefully. And again. And again. 

“Like that?” Quinn asks, voice like pure sin. 

“ _Harder_. Please fuck me ‘til I can’t think anymore. Make me forget the fire, the cases, my own— _fuck_ —name, please fuck me, Michael–”

“Oh _fuck_ ,” says Quinn, jerking his hips at the sound of his first name, and he obeys Allen’s wishes, going full-force and ramming into him like a machine. Allen cries out, the quick movements causing his ass to clench around the cock inside him, and Quinn growls at that.

“Didn’t want to hurt you, Doc,” Quinn breathes out, gripping his hip with one hand and holding onto his shoulder with the other. “But since you’re so sure you want it…” 

“Like that, _yeah_ ,” Allen moans, body getting jostled with each movement. Allen has no control, none at all, helpless and dazed, his body no longer his own. And he fucking loves it. 

Quinn leans forward, nuzzling Allen’s ear, giving an experimental bite to his lobe as he keeps thrusting, harder with each one. “You’re a dirty one, aren’t you, Doc?”

“Absolutely _filthy_ ,” Allen whispers, head buried against the pillow, words muffled. 

Quinn grabs a handful of Allen’s sweat-streaked hair and pulls his head up and back, staring into his eyes with a glare, and Allen shivers, almost believing he’s truly angry. “What was that, _Hynek_?”

“I said I’m a filthy _whore_ , sir!” 

“Ha,” laughs Quinn, pleased. He drops Allen’s head, which goes limp against the bed. “Yeah, you are. But you’re being so good for me, mm?” He thrusts into Allen again and instead of pulling back out quickly, he lingers there. Allen whines at the feeling of a pulsing cock stabbing against his prostate, eyes wet and dewy. 

Then Quinn pulls out for a moment—Allen almost _screams_ at that, a sharp noise of surprise and protest that reaches a high octave—and flips Allen on his back, settles between his legs. This time he gets his cock in quickly, and Allen rejoices at this new position, happy to finally see Quinn’s face as he fucks him. 

Quinn places his hands roughly on the undersides of Allen’s thighs to give him more leverage, and continues to thrust into him with force, and Allen’s hips rise to meet each thrust like the answer to a prayer. Allen can’t do much else but look up at Quinn, gazing at the man’s chiseled chest, smirking at how his perfect hair has gotten all tasseled, and whine out loudly each time Quinn hits _that_ _spot_ inside him. 

Quinn leans forward to kiss him, and Allen can barely move his mouth against his, so enraptured in the sex. His ass feels like it’s on fire, and the lube has made it sticky, but he wouldn’t take back this night for the world. He sighs against Quinn’s lips, content. 

Allen, suddenly remembering his own cock, reaches down to grab it, but Quinn grabs his wrist, then his other, and pins his hands above his head. “No,” Quinn growls out, and Allen squirms beneath him. “Let me.” The position has Allen flushed red, and he looks up at Quinn in awe. 

Quinn drops his grip on Allen’s wrists, but the man keeps his arms raised above his head and lets out a long whine as Quinn wraps his hand around his cock, jerking it slowly. His thrusts are still relatively quick, but his motions around Allen’s dick are tantalizingly slow in comparison. Allen closes his eyes, focusing on the two pleasures of his body, feeling like he’s floating above the bed, like he’s not of this earth anymore. 

“ _Such_ a nice cock,” Quinn praises him, moving deep inside Allen, drawing a guttural growl out of him, and slicking his hand along the man’s shaft. The attention has made Allen’s dick grow fully hard again, and Quinn smirks at the way the tip peeks out from his foreskin, all dewy with pre-cum. “Almost as nice as that tight ass. Which I’m _loving_ , by the way.”

“Couldn’t tell,” Allen laughs, only able to muster a couple words between thrusts, sighing deeply. 

Quinn keeps jerking him off as he fucks him, going faster in both regards now, and Allen lets himself take it, just lays there and makes noises of pleasure and acceptance. He’s mesmerized by Quinn’s stamina, how his face is flushed red and sweaty, but he hasn’t faltered a bit. Allen’s sure that if the positions were reversed, he wouldn’t be able to hold out this long in any sense of the word. 

“You close, Doc?” Quinn asks, teasing the tip of Allen’s cock with his thumb, then pumping it hard, making Allen whine. 

“Yes, Captain,” Allen replies. “ _Yes. Yes_.” And he is; his hips are jerking up and his cock is pulsing and his balls feel like they’re about to burst. His head is swimming, thoughts nothing but of Quinn. 

“Mmm,” Quinn muses, hand working his dick like a pro. “Come, then. I think you’ve earned it. After all, you’re being _such_ a good _whore_ for me, right?” 

And he thrusts up right against Allen’s prostate, and Allen gasps, eyes squeezed shut, and whines “Michael, _Michael_ ,” in a low breath as his cock spills all over his stomach, coating Michael’s hand in the process. It’s like he’s just blacked out, his mind completely blank and everything except the pleasure ceases to exist. Allen’s never come this hard. Not in his teens, not in his twenties. Never. 

Quinn soothes him through it, _thank God for that_ , stroking his cock slowly as it softens, running a sticky hand down his side and telling him “that’s it, good, good.” He lets him still for a moment, catch his breath first, and then he pulls out of Allen’s ass slowly. He’s gentle, but not enough that Allen doesn’t cry out in pain and emptiness. 

Quinn climbs onto Allen’s stomach, straddling him and not seeming to mind the cum. He tears off the condom, chucks it in the general direction of the trash can, and starts jerking himself with the same energy he’d on Allen’s cock used to throw him over the edge. Allen watches him in amazement, watches this cock that had just been inside him, made him feel so good, absolutely _ruined_ him too. 

“Open your mouth,” orders Quinn, and Allen does without hesitation. And he keeps it open when Quinn’s cum spurts into his mouth, onto his chin, drips down onto his chest. Once it’s slowed to a dribble, Allen swallows it down. He grimaces at the taste at first, but finds it not entirely unpleasant. He lets out a huge breath, tosses his head back in exhaustion and happiness. 

“You’re a handful in the field, you know,” Quinn says, smiling. He climbs off Allen and lays next to him, watching the man try to regain a rhythm to his breathing. He strokes a hand down his chest idly. “I never know what to do with you. But in bed, you’re perfect, Doc.”

“Allen,” he corrects, chest still heaving. His face is pale and sweaty, but his expression is one of serenity. 

Quinn smiles at that. They stay there for a moment, until Quinn taps Allen’s shoulder. “Come on. We should shower.”

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Allen asks, almost timidly. 

“You know I will,” says Quinn, and leans over to kiss him. “I’ve got you, Allen.”


End file.
